


Shine Like the Sun

by ilookedback



Series: Hyggetober Challenge Ficlets [19]
Category: Triple Frontier (2019)
Genre: Babyfic, Domesticity, Established Relationship, Gardening, Kissing, Other, gender neutral reader, hot single dad frankie morales (tm)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:14:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27143668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilookedback/pseuds/ilookedback
Summary: You’re half covered in dirt, elbow deep in your planter boxes, when he comes up the drive. He sets the baby down a few feet away and she carefully toddles towards you, in that funny, swaying way she’s recently mastered.“Hello, baby girl. You here to help me weed?”She babbles an answer and holds her arms out to you but you don’t dare reach for her with how filthy you are, so she ends up grabbing onto your bicep and the crook of your elbow, clutching onto you with her tiny hands. You lean down and press a kiss to her head and look up into the shadow of Frankie’s face, where he’s standing blocking out the sun.
Relationships: Francisco "Catfish" Morales/You
Series: Hyggetober Challenge Ficlets [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1952407
Comments: 3
Kudos: 30





	Shine Like the Sun

**Author's Note:**

> For day 19 of my Hyggetober Ficlet Challenge, which is based off of [this prompt list](https://www.instagram.com/p/B201-j7ljdU/?igshid=1pflwcl5260me) and will span several Pedro fandoms. Today's prompt is "flowers."
> 
> Same universe as [Down to the Roots](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26871253), [First Star I See](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26981017), and [Why Did It Have to Be...](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26990689).
> 
> Also, the whole thing about Frankie making pasta was [shamelessly stolen](https://fleetwoodmactshirts.tumblr.com/post/626565391358083072/francisco-morales-in-the-kitchen-hcs-aka-he-knows) from fleetwoodmactshirts on tumblr, who came up with it in the first place.

You’re half covered in dirt, elbow deep in your planter boxes, when he comes up the drive. He sets the baby down a few feet away and she carefully toddles towards you, in that funny, swaying way she’s recently mastered.

“Hello, baby girl. You here to help me weed?”

She babbles an answer and holds her arms out to you but you don’t dare reach for her with how filthy you are, so she ends up grabbing onto your bicep and the crook of your elbow, clutching onto you with her tiny hands. You lean down and press a kiss to her head and look up into the shadow of Frankie’s face, where he’s standing blocking out the sun.

“If you’ve got any C-A-R-R-O-T-S don’t let her near them, she hates ‘em,” he cautions. “She’ll pull them right out by the roots.”

You glance at your precious heirloom carrots and quietly resolve to keep an eye on her grabby little fingers.

“I’ll just tell her they’re pot plants, she’s too young to tell the difference,” you joke.

“Perfect.” He crouches behind her and watches her staring with a little too much interest at a roly poly crawling across the soil. “I’ve been teaching her not to do drugs, so she’ll probably leave them alone.”

The baby notices the pile of pulled weeds on the ground where you’ve discarded them, and she tentatively nudges her foot into them, looking pleased when she finds them soft and pliable under her shoe. She taps her foot against them, kicking the pile and making a satisfied sound.

“I know,” you tell her.

Frankie finally looks up at you and smiles. “Hey. Do I get a kiss, too?”

“Always.”

He leans in, over her head, and kisses you, longer and deeper than you’re expecting, and he leaves you a little breathless when he pulls away. His own expression is nothing but pleased contentment, eyes crinkling at the corners and a satisfied smile playing at his lips.

“Alright,” he says. “That’s all I came for. Thanks.”

“Any time,” you answer belatedly, watching as he gets up and heads over to the small patch of grass you call a lawn, where he stretches out on his back. “You’re not going to help?”

He pulls his hat over his face to block the sun. “Nah. I’m taking a nap.”

You eye the baby, who’s starting to lean in and dig her chubby fingers into the dirt.

“You’re not worried about her getting dirty?” you call over to him. He snorts dismissively.

“It’s good for babies to eat a little dirt. Strengthens the immune system.”

“Okay,” you mutter, “I’m not going to let her _eat_ it.”

She’s not terribly skilled at weeding, but she is excellent at dragging her fingers through the soil, and she does so with aplomb while you watch her out of the corner of your eye and continue your own work. After a few minutes Frankie’s voice comes again, low-pitched with drowsiness.

“What’re you gonna do with those squash blossoms?” he asks. It feels like a trick question. You glance over at the other planter box, where a healthy tangle of vines is spilling over the edge.

“Let them grow into squash?” you offer.

“Hmm,” he says. He really does sound sleepy, and you wonder how badly he needs this mid-morning nap. “You should pick a few of them and we can stuff them and fry them for dinner. We’ll do an Italian night. I’ll make pasta.”

Frankie has a somewhat limited cooking repertoire, but somewhere along the line he’d picked up how to make fresh pasta from scratch, and he’s both very good at and very proud of it. It works out well to your advantage because he almost never says no when you ask him for it.

“Alright,” you say. There probably are more squash blossoms than you really need to keep on the vine, anyway. “That sounds nice.”

“Hey.” He’s woken himself up a little now and he rolls onto his side and lifts his hat to squint over at you, grinning. “Remember the first time I made you pasta?”

You make a face at him, because of course you remember, and he knows it. He just continues to smile at you, amused.

“You got a little wine-drunk and told me you loved me,” he reminds you.

“Yes,” you say, “And you—” You glance at the baby, trying to decide what words to spell out so she doesn’t accidentally pick them up. “You showed me you loved me, right there on the kitchen table,” you settle on.

He laughs out loud and turns again onto his back, grinning face peeking out under the brim of his hat.

“Yeah,” he says happily. “We should do that again sometime.”

You shake your head at his overly amused tone, but you’re smiling too. With one hand you grab the baby’s hand as she reaches for your precious carrot tops, and with the other you reach for your phone, determined to find a babysitter free for the night.


End file.
